


Madeleine

by say_lene



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: F/M, There's sex but I'm too lazy to tag right now ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 05:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10847520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/say_lene/pseuds/say_lene
Summary: If being the Pathfinder’s wearing you down, why not be someone else for an evening? I can be someone else, too.I can be anyone you want.





	Madeleine

Sara rocked forward onto her toes. It was doable, although the straps around her ankles weren’t doing anything to support her. The shoe leather was stiff, too, but at least the toes weren’t pointed. Small mercies, she supposed. Rocking back, though - that was a problem. There couldn’t be anything historically accurate about five-inch heels. She’d have to have a stern word with Reyes once they were through here.

And that was when it hit her. This was  _ridiculous._

She fell back onto the chair behind her, five-inch heels sliding across the floor as she sunk down as far as she could manage. Her slip dress had other ideas, of course. The gauzy, beaded upper layer was catching on the -

Jesus _Christ_. Keema had found some crushed velvet upholstery.

Sara took a deep, calming breath. “The dress _is_ pretty,” she said to the empty room.

Catching the twin loops of pearls dangling from her neck, she held one up to the reddish light from the lamp beside her. The pearls were definitely fake, but they were lustrous enough, and they _did_ look good with these gloves. There was something to be said for white silk, especially when it reached your elbows. It made Sara feel kind of classy - but not _too_ classy. The pale slip dress was fairly shapeless, too, which was both strange and a little sexy. It left her upper arms bare, the topmost layer fringed from the middle of her thigh to her knee. Early twentieth American women had apparently wanted to show a little leg - but not _too much_ leg. Sara stretched one of hers out, admiring the way the strips of weighted fabric parted over her thigh.

She definitely understood why Reyes had left her this particular dress. There was still the mystery of where he’d gotten it, along with the shoes, gloves and plastic pearls - and where Keema had gotten everything else.

Kadara’s stand-in ruler had turned the palace into a wonderland of red-shaded lamps and velvety dark wood furniture. Rich, gauzy fabrics hung from the walls, disguising the contemporary metal panels, and big band jazz could be heard in the distance. In Keema Dohrgun’s conception of 1920s America, liquor bottles were apparently decorative, and no light source passed muster unless it was crimson or gold. This particular room - Sara’s _dressing room_ , as Keema had referred to it earlier - could have come straight from a Prohibition era speakeasy. The wood furniture could be credited to some clever painting technique, of course; if Sara tapped on the arm of her chair, it rang like aluminium. A good number of the bottles on the walls were probably fake, too, but Sara had to admire the effect.

It was definitely beginning to affect _her_. If Sara didn’t think too hard about the shoes or the dress, or the looks she was going to get from party-goers who embraced the theme a little less fervently, she started to enjoy the gaudy décor. The warm lights smoothed their way through her skin, easing out all the tension in her shoulders; letting quiet, buzzing excitement begin to build behind her belly-button. She felt a little nervous. She felt a little _naughty_ \- and maybe that was what Reyes wanted. She suspected he’d had a hand in choosing the party theme, because Keema shouldn’t even know what a speakeasy _was_.

And Sara hadn’t forgotten the agreement she’d made with him during their last email exchange.

_If being the Pathfinder’s wearing you down, why not be someone else for an evening? I can be someone else, too._

_I can be anyone you want._

It sent delicious shivers over Sara’s skin. She hadn’t imagined they’d be playing their game in a setting quite like this, but she was starting to come around. Climbing to her feet was something of an effort, because she hadn’t worn heels in a _very_ long time - but she managed it. Her saunter wasn’t quite up to scratch yet, unfortunately. She frowned into the mirror by the door, surveying her reflection critically.

“How do I look, SAM?”

“I cannot reliably measure your attractiveness to other individuals, Pathfinder. With that said, your costume is distinctive. It is not historically accurate, however.”

“Is it the shoes?”

“Among other things. The hem of your dress is higher than would have been found acceptable in the 1920s United States. For the sake of authenticity, your hair should be at least -”

Sara rolled her eyes at her reflection. “Okay, I get it.” She tried to push back the worst of the fly-aways around her forehead. Her hair _was_ too long for this kind of costume, but she’d pulled it back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. That would have to be good enough. “But do I look like an idiot?”

“That would also be a matter of perspective.”

“Right.”

Sara could hear loud voices in the hall now, along with laughter and clinking glasses. The party must have started, but Sara was in no hurry. She doubted whether Reyes Vidal had ever been on time for anything - least of all a party. Then again, he was probably planning some sort of dramatic entrance, which meant he’d be counting on her to arrive first. Sara pushed her shoulders back, trying to stand taller. She didn’t fall over on her way out the door, which was a considerable victory. She made a mental note to demand a reward for that a little later -

And almost fell over anyway when she saw how many people Keema had crammed into her palace.

The halls were packed to bursting. Guests had been squeezed into every available space, spilling out of doorways and crowding corridors with their laughter and ‘bootleg’ whiskey. Human, turian, salarian, asari and angara - they were all dressed head to toe in their best attempt at mimicked 1920s excess. An asari in a dress that looked a lot like Sara’s winked as Sara wobbled past, and a salarian in a pinstriped suit eyed her heels with some concern. Sara felt that her technique improved considerably by the time she reached Keema’s throne room.

The guards looked her up and down, frowning. “VIPs only,” the closest said shortly.

He was an angara; tall, muscled and imposing. The pair of them were suited up in solid grey. If they’d had trilby hats too - and maybe something to hide the folds on the sides of their faces - they could have passed as Philadelphia gangsters.

“I’m Ryder,” Sara said irritably. How could they still need reminding? “Pathfinder.”

The angara’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Oh. Uhh -”

His companion elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up,” he hissed. He turned to Sara. “We were told you’d be giving a different name tonight.”

Sara’s stomach turned a somersault. This was _embarrassing_ \- but, all the same, she felt a little thrill of excitement; a spark of something tense and nervous and -

“Madeleine Belle.” She twined her fingers through her necklace, coiling the beads around her knuckles. It was an anchor, almost, as she consciously shed her embarrassment. She held her head high. “I believe I’m on the list.”

The angara didn’t even glance at his list. Clearly, Keema didn’t choose her guards for their acting ability. “Go right ahead, miss. The boss said you drink for free tonight.”

The doors opened - and Sara’s mouth fell open, too.

Keema had turned the throne room into a gold and burgundy grotto. It was a delicious mire of warm light and red fabric; of dark wood and rosy glass. One side of the room had become a low-set oasis of alcohol and leather arranged in clusters around a smooth wooden bar. Liquor bottles rose almost to the ceiling behind it, back-lit by scarlet light. Crimson lamps hung from the ceiling, too, like red giants on the periphery of a feast. Two delicate palm trees stood on either side of the door - but they weren’t palm trees at all. They were explosions of huge golden feathers, their tallest plumes just barely brushing the ceiling; a gaudy and bizarre tribute to humanity’s strangest fashions. The jazz was much louder in here, and it made Sara’s feet long for dancing.

She wasn’t sure how to react, so she didn’t react at all. She made a beeline for the bar instead, weaving between the guests and their increasingly gaudy outfits. Suddenly, Sara’s dress didn’t seem particularly ostentatious. This room wasn’t as crowded as the rest of the palace, but it was still difficult to see more than a few feet in any direction. Sara decided she didn’t care. If someone wanted to speak to her, she would definitely be found. Umi wasn’t serving at the bar tonight, and Sara realized why the moment the salarian bartender asked her name. The grouchy asari would never have indulged this particular flight of fancy.

“Madeleine Belle.” It sounded more confident, this time; less like a stripper name and more like another costume she was wearing. “Whiskey. Neat,” she added, once she remembered who she wasn’t talking to.

A warm hand on the small of her back was her first warning that Reyes was there. “My kind of drink,” came his voice in her ear. “Make that two. I’m buying.”

Sara’s first impulse was to greet him with every ounce of the longing she’d stored up over the weeks they’d been apart - but after seeing the lengths he’d gone to in order to make this evening memorable, Sara wanted their game to be perfect, too. She turned her face towards him, lips lingering over a quiet gasp as if she was surprised by his forwardness. She was ready to point out that she was drinking for free - and nearly swallowed her tongue.

Calling Reyes beautiful was like calling dark space cold, but in a tuxedo he was something else. He was smiling at her rather smugly, hair swept back with a little more flourish than usual; one elbow resting against the bar while he tugged at the bottom of his jacket in an effort to show off his waistcoat. The red lights made him glow like something scorching and mysterious, and Sara could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. He winked, and she forgot what she’d been planning to say.

“What’s your name?” he asked her. His voice was lower than usual; husky, almost, like he was trying to rile her up.

Sara was certain that he was.

“Madeleine Belle.” It was a murmur, this time, and Sara was all about it. “Who are you?”

“Rafael Toro.” His hand left Sara’s back so he could pull a credit chit from his pocket, but his eyes never once left her face. The bartender eyed the credit chit uncertainly, clearly aware of Sara’s free-drinks status - and handed it right back. Reyes tucked the chit back into his pocket without acknowledgement. “It’s rare to find someone as lovely as you in an establishment like this.”

Jesus, it was corny. Sara loved it.

“You clearly haven’t been looking hard enough, Mr. Toro. I come here all the time.” The bartender rolled his eyes as he pushed their drinks across the bar.

“But not often enough.” Reyes’ smile faded, good humour giving way to intensity. “You’re not someone I believe I could overlook.”

The urge to giggle was almost overpowering. All Sara wanted to do was hold him; to throw her arms around his neck and just _fucking_ kiss him - but she held back. “I suppose you could say I’m a traveller,” she said lightly. She took a sip of her drink, acutely aware of how Reyes watched her swallow. The pearls suddenly felt like weights around her neck. The temperature must have risen ten degrees.

Reyes gestured vaguely towards the back of the room, where neither gold nor crimson had managed to disperse the shadows. “I have a table in the corner there. Perhaps we could get to know each other a little better. You could tell me about your travels.”

“Hmm.” Sara raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider. “I hardly know you, Mr. Toro.”

“Call me Rafael. And isn’t that the point?”

Whatever song had been playing finally gave way to silence, and the speakers sparked up another melody. This one was pitched lower than the last, full of double bass and heavy brasses, and it sent pleasant vibrations through Sara’s bones. She held out one gloved hand - and Reyes took it, a fresh smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

He led her through the crowd carefully, whiskey glass cradled against his chest with his free hand. Sara took a few quick gulps of her drink as she followed him along, grimacing past the burn. She didn’t want to waste her time sipping. She had other things in mind. A few of the other guests sent them sideways looks as they settled into their shadowy corner, but Sara only paid enough attention to register that they were there. After that, she ignored them completely.

The table and chairs were just as metallic as everything else in Kadara Port, but Keema had gone to great pains to disguise that. The burgundy tablecloth helped, but she really shouldn’t have bothered - because Sara only had eyes for Reyes. She scooched her chair closer to him the moment she sat down, canting her knees towards his under the pretext of accommodating her heels. He sipped his drink calmly, watching her with some amusement - but his gaze was heated.

“So,” he murmured, one finger tracing idle patterns on the tabletop, “what brings you to this washed-up town?”

Suddenly, Sara was _tired_. Not tired of the game, of course, because she was loving the corny stuff almost as much as Reyes was. She was just tired of waiting.

She trapped his hand beneath hers, curling her gloved fingers around his wrist. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

He seemed surprised, but also distinctly _unsurprised_. Sara had to agree with him, because there was no other way this could have gone. She leaned around the table, hidden from prying eyes by the comforting shadows, and whispered her next words into his ear.

“I didn’t come over here to tell you about myself.”

“What did you come for, then?” He turned his head just far enough to plant a soft kiss against the curve of her jaw. “I barely know you, Madeleine Bell.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

Reyes chuckled darkly, and the sound set Sara’s blood on fire. “Don’t you want to finish your drink?”

“Well…” Sara sighed plaintively. “I suppose I can wait a little longer. You do look good in a tux.”

He winked at her again. “I look a lot better out of it.”

Sara almost choked on her next breath, but she managed to nip at his lower lip instead. She settled back into her chair - and got her revenge when his lips tried to follow her, chasing empty air like he was tangled in her pearls. He pulled his wrist free of her grip, trying to disguise his slip by taking a gulp of his whiskey.

“So,” he began. “Madeleine.” He rolled the name across his tongue like he was tasting every syllable. That hand he’d torn free snaked down under the table, and Sara shivered with delight when his fingers brushed her leg. They pushed the fringed tassels aside, sliding up and over her kneecap to caress the inside of her thigh - and the curve of his smile said he knew exactly what his touch was doing to her. “Are you enjoying the party?”

Sara had made it most of the way through her drink before they’d even sat down, but she drained the last of it now. Reyes’ dancing fingertips were sending little shocks along her skin, and they eked their way down inside her like infrared spirals; little tendrils of _want_ that stroked and curled until she couldn’t think straight. “You could say that.”

“That’s not exactly a glowing endorsement,” he replied. Sara was watching the liquid level in his glass, willing him to drink faster. “Is there something wrong?”

She shifted in her seat, trying to gather her thoughts, but Reyes took it as an invitation to slide his hand further up her thigh. She consciously held back a groan when he left the tassels behind, gliding beneath the thicker layers of her dress. He started drawing tiny circles on her skin - exactly the kind of circles he knew she liked drawn somewhere else -

“No. Nothing’s wrong,” Sara said. She knew she sounded breathy, but she really couldn’t help it. “But there’s an awful lot of people here. I wonder if we could find someplace quieter.”

Reyes chuckled again, but he downed the last of his drink. His fingers finally stopped their delightful torture - and he offered her that hand instead. “Let’s go.”

Sara wasn’t sure exactly where he led her, winding through the crowd like it was some rich and whiskey-laden forest. She saw the towering feather trees pass them by, of course, and Keema’s guards exchange knowing glances. She saw doors open and curtains close; heard the music fade as they started to leave the range of the speakers. The crowd thinned out eventually, and the decorations did too. Sara almost stumbled at one point, heel caught on a burgundy carpet, but Reyes steadied her.

“Where are we going?”

Smiling, he pulled her through a side door. It quickly closed behind them, excluding all but the faintest light, and took a moment for Sara to get her bearings. It took an even longer moment to overcome her shock. She’d expected a bedroom.

“A _coatroom_?”

Reyes rested his hands on her waist, gently turning her to face him. Sara came awfully close to breaking character - because _shit_ , why did he have such a thing for storerooms? - but he tilted her chin upwards, grazing his knuckles down the side of her throat. “The party’s in full swing, Madeleine. Who’s going to disturb us here?”

Sara sighed - a high-pitched, frustrated sound - and seized him by the pockets of his waistcoat. “No one.” It sounded like a threat, and she meant it that way.

Reyes kissed her, yanking her hips towards him, and Sara couldn’t contain a startled shriek as she lost her balance again. He caught her, of course, swallowing her yelp as he took the opportunity to press his tongue past her lips. Sara moaned, consumed by that fire he’d been stoking under the bar table; threw her arms around his neck, untroubled by the knowledge that he was the only thing keeping her upright. His hand slipped over her thigh again, pushing tassels aside to bare quivering skin - but he paused at the hem.

Sara was gasping for air. “I want -”

“Are you sure?” His lips brushed her chin; her neck; her collarbone. “You hardly know me.”

Sara was already unbuttoning his waistcoat. “I don’t care,” she breathed. She couldn’t think of anything better to say, and the buttons weren’t cooperating. Her gloves were getting in the way, so she started to tear them off.

“Stop,” Reyes whispered, and Sara obeyed. She couldn’t have said why, but something about the way he stared at her made her jittery and needy; not frightened, of course, but _taut_ \- like a violin string ready to snap. “Maybe I’m trouble, Madeleine. Maybe I’m dangerous. Hell - maybe I’m just crazy.”

Sara shivered. It was _delicious_. “I’ll take the risk,” she breathed.

“Call me Rafael.”

Sara bit down on her lip to try to hold back her giggle. She failed miserably. “ _Rafael_.”

Reyes grinned, kissing away her laughter - but the kiss soon turned urgent, and he finally slid his palm all the way under her dress. Sara jerked when his fingers reached the apex of her thighs -

Reyes’ momentary pause gave away his surprise. “Oh, _Sara_ -”

“Madeleine,” she hissed. “And don’t stop.”

He withdrew his hand just long enough to help her get her feet beneath her - then promptly pushed her back against the door. He yanked her dress up over her hips, and Sara exhaled sharply when the cool air met her skin. Then his fingers were back between her legs, sliding over her folds before he pushed one careful digit inside her. Sara spread her thighs wider, and Reyes curled his other hand behind her neck. Her breathing was quickly turning ragged. She clutched at his waistcoat again, but she didn’t resume her attempts to undress him. This was for balance - and balance only.

The pads of his fingers were spreading her wetness, sliding up to circle her clit before slipping back down to delve inward. Sara’s lungs climbed higher in her chest with every centimetre of progress he made. Her skin was on fire; stretched tight like the surface of a star. Reyes scattered kisses over her jaw and down her neck, fingers striking a rhythm that made her bones shudder and her heart chime like ringing glass. Her eyelids were fluttering shut. Her own breathing drowned out all other sound, but she fumbled at his fly anyway.

Her gloves made it impossible. She reached for Reyes, uncertain what she wanted him to do. Her hand found his jaw, silk catching on his skin as she pulled his face up to hers. His eyes were shadowed, roiling like summer storm clouds - but he seemed to realize what she wanted. He sucked her fingers into his mouth, managing to catch the tip of one digit between his teeth. He gave a muffled chuckle as he pulled the glove free, then spat the silk onto the ground.

Reyes’ lips returned to Sara’s throat. He pressed the heel of his palm against her clit; a continuous, throbbing pressure as he fucked her with his fingers. She moaned, wriggling her hips in a desperate plea for _more_ \- and unzipped Reyes’ fly, slipping her bared hand inside his underwear. He was every bit as hot and hard as she’d hoped, and he groaned into her neck as she began to stroke him. The angle was wrong. The confines were awkward. But Sara was determined; Reyes’ kisses slowed, then stopped as she started to find a rhythm. The pads of her fingers were surely too dry - but his face was soon buried in the curve of her neck.

“Sara -”

“ _Fuck_.” She didn’t even notice he’d used the wrong name. “I - oh god -”

Reyes’ fingers slipped out of her. The pressure on her clit vanished, but Sara didn’t have time to complain. His hands went to her waist, spinning her around. He shoved her towards the door again - and this time, it was rough. A full-bodied shudder ran through her, anticipation and pleasure building and spiking until her every muscle thrummed with need. Sara heard clothing rustling behind her, but she couldn’t look back; Reyes’ hand was on the base of her neck, holding her still while his other hand guided her ass back towards him. Sara folded her arms over her head to brace herself. She arched her back to accommodate him.

Jesus. This was -

She didn’t know what this was. She was missing one glove, and her dress was up around her waist. The fake pearls were digging into the back of her neck, bunched beneath Reyes’ hand. He was still almost completely clothed - but Sara decided she liked it. She liked this just as much as when she sprawled across his naked body; as much as when they took their pleasure over slow and aching hours. The clothes made it feel _filthy_ \- and the musty coatroom didn’t help - but it was doing things to her.

Good things.

Reyes pushed inside her. He groaned softly, bracing himself with a hand on the small of her back, and Sara buried her face in the crook of her elbow. She was trying to muffle a whine, but she didn’t succeed. He mumbled something under his breath; one of those choked-out phrases Sara never quite understood. It felt like forever before he’d finally filled her, but it was eternity made brief; eons lost in slick friction and halting sighs.

He started slow, but nothing about it was gentle. Every thrust threatened to lift Sara off her feet, but she clung to the door in white-knuckled determination. He was hitting a spot inside her that sent fire pouring down her spine. Reyes draped himself over her back, brushing her hair aside to plant open-mouthed kisses on her shoulder. Sara’s vision was tunnelling. Her legs were shaking.

She was struggling to breathe again. “Reyes, I -”

Then she was gone, muscles locking and spine curving; gasping in pleasure as molten waves rolled over her. Reyes’ rhythm faltered. He let go of her neck, both hands moving to her hips instead, and his thrusts grew slow and desperate. He groaned again, pressing his face into the dip between her shoulder blades as something like an electric pulse ran through him - then shuddered through his release. His panting soon gave way to quiet laughter.

“Incredible,” he murmured.

There was always something _different_ about Reyes’ voice in moments like these. Maybe it was just that his affection was clearer, or maybe it was because he sounded so relaxed. Whatever it was, it melted Sara’s bones. _This_ was when a bed would have come in handy. All she wanted to do right now was curl herself around him - and never leave Kadara again.

Redressing was simple enough for Reyes, but he helped her to tug her dress back down and readjust her necklace, too. “That dress really does suit you, Sara.” He sounded a little sheepish.

She raised an eyebrow. “We’re done with the aliases, then?”

He planted a gentle kiss on her cheek. “I think so.”

Truth be told, Sara was a little relieved. It was nice to take a break from being the Pathfinder - but she didn’t need to be someone else to make that happen. Reyes didn’t need to, either.

“I know this party must have taken work, but… can we just go home?”

Home wasn’t the Tempest, and Reyes knew it. He smiled _that_ smile. It was the one that made Sara’s heart hurt. It was the one that made her heart sing, too. It was the one that made her wonder how she’d ever been so prideful; how she’d ever claimed to know of love without knowing Reyes Vidal.

He picked up her glove and slipped it back on, then twined his fingers through hers. “Lead the way, Sara.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! You can find me at notebookalpha.tumblr.com


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